


It never rains but it pours

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-The Final Problem, Sibling Incest, guess which parent accepts them as they are and win a toaster, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: After Sherrinford, Sherlock wants to comfort his brother in a very intimate manner. Mummy walks in on them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a famous, very deep and poetic quote: "Jak się pierdoli, to wszystko naraz".

Before he entered Mycroft's office, Sherlock decided to accept John's invitation. They would be flatmates again for a couple of days, just until the mess in 221b was sorted. Mycroft certainly hoped Sherlock would use the perfect excuse of a nearly destroyed flat and recovered trauma to move in with him for a week of two. That was exactly the kind of thing a person in an incestuous relationship would do. But Mycroft's involvement in Moriarty and Eurus's plan was impossible to ignore. So many last straws in the past, this might actually be the end.

His contemplation was interrupted by another dose of the Holmes family drama. Mother and father did not accept Mycroft's explanation, even though they were informed how dangerous Eurus was. Mycroft just sat there, behind his desk and listened to the tirade, looking so forlorn and broken. There was no reason to punish him, he was doing that to himself with ferocity worth a bigger cause. Stupid, sentimental fool, Sherlock thought, unsure if he was referring to Mycroft or himself. Their parents were to stay the night at Mycroft's house and Sherlock felt obliged to join them.

The atmosphere was understandably tense, the silence heavy between them. At the table, Mummy looked longingly at the empty chair next to Sherlock, no doubt imagining her third child sharing a meal with them. He didn't remind her how it would end. His eyes kept wandering towards Mycroft, he had lost his appetite and that was as worrying as the way he briefly touched his chest. Sherlock's anger melted into that hideous, warm feeling, the inconvenient combination of belonging, caring and passion that only Mycroft elicited from him.

As soon as the parents retired to bed, Mycroft lit a cigarette, too focused on his anguish to realise what it did to Sherlock. They were in the sitting room, it would be bold even for their standards but Sherlock was beyond caring. He stood up, crossed the room to Mycroft's chair and without a word took the cigarette from between his lips. Mycroft allowed it, no point in arguing after a violent near-death experience. One luxurious, deep drag and Sherlock stubbed it out in the ashtray. He had something more soothing and less lethal to offer.

 

Undoubtedly, there was something wrong with him, with them because it seemed so natural and right to lean down for a kiss. The comforting ritual, repeated over the years, stopped being scandalous and thrillingly wrong. Sherlock cupped Mycroft's face, kissed him lightly, languidly, urging him to open up. Mycroft let Sherlock's tongue in and returned the gesture with equal hunger. The taste of brandy and cigarettes, fingers threading through dark curls, the rush of pleasure...

Mother and father were probably still awake, under the same roof, that also was not shocking anymore, after all those Christmas breaks and other family gatherings.

Sherlock slid down to the floor, between Mycroft's legs with a clear intention. The risk of exposure used to be so strong, only to turn into a distant, mildly annoying threat. Mycroft no longer whispered anxiously, 'They may hear us, see us, not now.' Instead, he thumbed Sherlock's bottom lip, hesitated but asked anyway. 'Why?'

'Because you are my brother' Sherlock answered simply, _and I love you_.

They watched each other, Mycroft unmoving and Sherlock doing all the hard work to reach under layers of fabric and find Mycroft's length. He closed his hand around it, stroked so gently he could be accused of affection. With any other person, Sherlock would hate the submissive position, the unpleasant sensation of being used. Mycroft was different, even when he held Sherlock by the neck or gripped a handful of his hair, he didn't use the leverage to push in further. His determination to make it as easy and pleasant for Sherlock as possible earned him more enthusiastic blowjobs than he deserved and it was unclear who spoilt whom.

Sherlock scooted closer, nuzzled Mycroft's erection, hiding his face from the scrutinising gaze. They had gone through all the possible phases, One was willing, the other wasn't, then they switched, and the periods of mutual indifference, disgusting happiness and futile attempts at provoking jealousy. And yet such moments of intimacy, the quiet sense of unfading love and attachment never stopped being the biggest source of comfort.

Mycroft didn't rush him, he had never done that, always so patient and receptive and unselfish. Sherlock considered staying on his knees, leaning against Mycroft's groin, just enjoying the warmth and closeness. They had never been caught and Sherlock associated sex wth Mycroft with absolute safety. Nothing could happen to either of them while they were together and he needed that after Sherrinford.

He pulled back only enough to close his lips around the head, drops of precome on his tongue. The same inexplicable elation that he experienced as a young adult, the joy of giving Mycroft what he never asked for. His licks were teasingly light, he swirled his tongue around the tip clockwise, that was the only occasion when Mycroft's OCD did not bother him.

He moved forward, sticking his tongue out, filling his mouth until it became uncomfortable and sucked harder. Without losing his slow but steady rhythm, he searched under the armchair for an inconspicuous, unlabeled little bottle. Not the first time in this particular spot and Mycroft liked being prepared. Sherlock had barely undone his trousers and tugged them down low enough for the next step when Mycroft finally used brute force but it was to shove Sherlock away. The disbelief on Sherlock's face matched the one he saw in Mummy's eyes. She was standing by the door, completely still, too shocked to react just yet.

 

They were prepared for it. Mycroft's plan remained unchanged from the beginning and was precisely as ridiculous as expected- take all the blame and shield Sherlock from any consequences. Sherlock's was to say something outrageous to draw attention to himself before Mummy could unleash her fury on the elder son. And that was what they did, Sherlock informed her they were going to finish soon and saw the raised hand getting closer to his face, blocked by Mycroft. The fact that he was still not entirely covered did not ease the tension. The person who stopped it from escalating too far was, oddly enough, father. He stepped in, prevented the bloodshed and gave Mycroft time to hide what only half of the family wanted to see.

Sherlock estimated the time of the rebuke for about an hour and three-quarters. They had already gone through the formalities, Sherlock's age when his evil brother attacked him, the issue of consent and whether or not that perverse relationship was more or less damaging to Sherlock than whatever Eurus did to him. Mycroft calmly answered only those questions that required his verbal response and didn't make any excuses for himself. Sherlock, on the other hand, continued his approach to the situation and made inflammatory comments to give Mycroft a break. Mummy entered the territory of responsibility and protection and disappointment, that monologue would last at least twenty minutes. Sherlock yawned, he had to speed things up, after two sleepless nights he wanted only lazy sex with Mycroft and a bit of rest.

'This is becoming dull. I don't see the problem, we're both adults, consenting adults.' Mummy's expression encouraged him to try harder. 'It's not his fault and he's too soft to hurt me. I can't convince him to do anything kinky.'

'You're fanning the flames.'

'I love him,' Sherlock said, but it still sounded too general, too innocent, so he added gravely, 'I'm in love with him.'

It was only right to say it for the first time in such circumstances, without looking at Mycroft and in front of an unsupportive audience that described it as vile.

Mycroft, that unemotional, cold as ice liar, was so touched by the sudden declaration of love that he could not contain his inappropriate happiness and smiled. Mummy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, struggling not to scream.

'Tea,' father stated and seized Sherlock's arm. 'We will make tea.'

The idea was controversial, hot liquid and breakable cups did not go well with family crises of this calibre. Also, Sherlock didn't quite understand why his help was required but a moment of peace was tempting. Only when he was about to put the kettle on did it dawn on him it was a code. Father startled him by laying both hands on his shoulders and staring right into his eyes sternly.

'I need you to tell me the truth, son. Did Mycroft force you?'

Sherlock squirmed, feeling uneasy.

'I have already explained that-'

'Do it again, now without Mycroft listening to you.'

'He didn't. Have you met me? Or him? You can't think he would harm me.'

'Did he coerce you? Told you this is the only way you two can be close?'

'No.'

'Were you really of age when it started?'

'Yes.' There was no reason to discuss all that sexual tension and seduction that preceded the first frantic snogging.

'You boys think you are so clever, don't you? This,' he waved his hand toward the sitting room, 'could have been avoided. You should have been honest with us, give us time to process it. I assume you have been sneaking around, lying and hiding, always afraid someone might find out the truth. You could have had one safe place, your family home.'

Lost for words, Sherlock observed his father, the person who was just a background noise all his life and now he turned out to be the actual smart one of the family. Did someone drug Sherlock, was it a hallucination or a perhaps an alternate universe? Who was that man standing in front of him, had he always been so... not stupid?

'This is your weakness, yours and Mycroft's, you underestimate people.'

'Can you really... accept this?'

'It's been over twenty years, correct?'

'Exactly twenty-five and all I got was a tie.'

'I suppose you will not stop it now because of our disapproval. This may take a while but I'm sure we can live with this. Just spare us the intimate details and wait some time with displaying affection in our presence.'

It was one of those rare moments when Sherlock felt like a complete and utter moron, outsmarted by an ordinary person and suffering greatly because of it. He didn't mind the secrecy, but Mycroft, he really did not need the stress. So much time and energy wasted on pointless deception. 

'Damn.'

'Let's go back and please, try not to aggravate the situation.'

 

Mycroft was so relieved to see them as if he expected to be left with Mummy for hours. His reaction to father's suggestion to finish the conversation in the morning was similar to Mummy's. Everyone was exhausted, first Eurus, then incest. She temporarily abandoned the idea of persuading her stubborn sons to stop having sex with each other and agreed to postpone the scolding, surely to gather more ammunition.

The moment the parents left them alone, not without uneasy glances, Mycroft turned to Sherlock, looking nonchalant. 

'Did you mean it? What you've said... about me?'

'Yes.'

'I..., well, too.' Using the proper words would kill him, the Iceman would melt into a sizeable puddle. 'This went rather smoothly, compared to my predictions. I wasn't disowned, at least not yet. We were not stabbed with pitchforks, engulfed by hellfire or sent to our rooms to think about what we've done.'

'Back to what we've started, then?' Sherlock pointed to the armchair and produced the lubricant from his pocket. 

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but reconsidered and gave in. 'Yes, why not? What's the worst that can happen?'


End file.
